I Didn't Catch the Name
by Dimityblue
Summary: A missing scene for A Scandal in Belgravia. Neilson (the American operative) is recovering in hospital when he gets a visitor.


Neilson shifted in the hospital bed, then eyed the control on his morphine drip before letting his eyes slide shut. His head was aching, and the throbbing from his ribs seemed to be echoing throughout his body, making his head pound in rhythm. The drip would be so easy, but he was determined to ride it out. He gritted his teeth, letting the pain feed his anger instead. That bastard Sherlock Holmes. When he got out of hospital, he'd make damned sure Holmes regretted ever seeing his face. Losing a fellow operative had been annoying, but was a risk of the job. Being thrown out of the window onto trash cans...well, that made it personal.

What the hell had Holmes expected? Neilson had had to go after him once he was informed Holmes had the phone. And if that stupid bitch of a woman hadn't put up a fight, Neilson wouldn't have had to smack her around a little. It's not like she was badly hurt, for all the crying she did. He'd been considerate enough to not hit her too hard - after all, he'd wanted her conscious. Not that she'd known anything.

He moved again, trying to ease his broken ribs. Thrown out of the window, for Christ's sake. It was an insult to his reputation. Well, the time would come to settle with Mr. Sherlock Holmes and then they'd see. In the meantime... He forced himself to lie still and breathe through his pain, focussing his attention on the rhythm of his breathing. At least they'd taken that damned tube out and he could breathe for himself. Everything else was easy now he could breathe.

The door opened and Neilson opened an eye to see who it was, fully expecting to see a nurse or doctor. He opened both eyes when he realised it was a tall, well-dressed man carrying an umbrella. A civil servant, Neilson suspected, but what the hell he wanted... He suppressed a groan. With the way his luck was running lately, the guy had been sent from MI5 to ask what exactly CIA operatives were doing in London being thrown out of Baker Street windows. Well, at least they'd sent a pencil pusher, not some hard ass with a licence to kill.

The man didn't speak until he'd fetched a chair and sat down. Then he smiled politely. "Mr. Neilson, I believe."

"You have the advantage of me," Neilson replied flatly. If the guy was going to dance around the bush, he'd be needing painkillers before the end.

"Yes, I do, don't I?" the man agreed, an affable tone in his voice.

Neilson took another look at the guy, wondering if he'd missed something. "So you are?"

"Pleased to meet you."

The man's smile widened and more alerts went off in Neilson's mind. Not a pencil pusher, then. He wondered if he'd be able to press the buzzer or if making a quick move would be a mistake.

"I believe you recently paid a visit to 221B Baker Street," the man continued, "and that the visit did not...go well."

"You could say that." Neilson shut his mouth on any more.

"I do say that. I believe that Mrs. Hudson also failed to enjoy your visit."

For a second, Neilson wondered who Mrs. Hudson was, then he remembered. Her name hadn't been important at the time but it sounded like this guy, whoever he was, knew her. As more and more red flags went up, the man regarded the tip of his umbrella and smiled.

"Allow me to make myself clear, Mr. Neilson." The man leaned forward and Neilson got a good look at his eyes and fought the urge to shrink into his pillows. The smile was gone and the man's eyes were cold as ice, with the flat look of a snake. "You will not return to Baker Street. You will never attempt to harm Sherlock Holmes, John Watson or Mrs. Hudson again. If you do, I will deal with the situation." The man sat back and Neilson managed to inhale. "Your man Archer should be grateful to Ms. Adler. If he had succeeded in shooting John Watson in the head, it would not have been taken lightly." The man stood, his smile back in place. "I'm sure we understand each other. You will be hearing from your superiors later today, Mr. Neilson. You'll be pleased to know that you'll be working with us in a more...authorised operation. We can hope that will prevent any more trips out of windows."

As he moved to the door, Neilson forced himself to speak. "I didn't catch the name."

The man smiled. "No, you didn't, did you? Good day, Mr. Neilson." And the door closed quietly behind him.

End

3rd January 2012


End file.
